


Full Stop Gravity

by persesphone



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Kings & Queens, Marvel Norse Lore, Midgard Misadventures, Miðgarðr | Midgard, Mythology References, Thor and Valkyrie travel the globe via honeymoon/tourist style, Thor gives Valkyrie the nickname "koala", Val doesn't warm up to Midgard right away, World Travel, i haven't seen infinity war yet and honestly i'm too afraid to at this point, this takes place in the probable future after Avengers4, thorkyrie - Freeform, to be honest i don't know how to tag this, valor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-04-26 12:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persesphone/pseuds/persesphone
Summary: As a way to give the newly joined couple a needed break from the craziness of Ragnarok and then Infinity War, Thor takes Valkyrie on a globe trotting journey around Midgard via honeymoon and tourist style.Valkyrie is very confused about Midgard. Thor uses this to showcase and demonstrating his apparent vast knowledge of Earth and its customs. She doesn't warm up to the realm right away.





	Full Stop Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> Some of this is filler from actual Norse Mythology.
> 
> There isn't much Thorkyrie/Valor content but here's my contribution. Maybe I'll do more. Maybe I'll eat the pack of Oreos I've been looking at the whole time while writing this. Maybe I'll drop out and move to another country like Thor and Val
> 
> This is loosely based off of these headcanons on tumblr. This is also posted to my tumblr

He can't quite figure out why at first; why there was a minuscule nagging at the back of his mind that a subliminal bomb is at risk of detonating when he'd went ahead with this plan. (Maybe he shouldn't have conversed with his brother before going, but the afterthought is far too late now.)

The sidewalks are busy with people pushing past—some politely, some with their heads down to the screens of devices of theirs. But _she's_ just as pretty and ruggedly polished and pleasant as the first days they met, grunting under the beating summer heat that's increased by the surrounding tall buildings and vehicles' exhaust, her limp dark hair pulled up by a golden lily-shaped clip he'd gifted to her, made by the dwarfs of Svartalfheim, and she's _scowling—_ she's just as irritatingly stubborn and brazen as in their first days when Thor offers to duck into an upcoming store for air conditioning, and Valkyrie _rolls_ her eyes, curses obscenities underneath her breath about this irregular realm, and _pushes_ past a young man who dawdles in her path, too blinded by his iPad. But there's something about how she smiles, about how she carries herself, how she raises her eyebrows and presses her lips together and smooths her hands down the front of her grey jogging sweater while they stand outside a Five Guys, waiting for an order; as she waits for him to answer her inexperienced questions—like she's trying not to _laugh at him_ , like she's in on a really funny, snidey joke that he hasn't _understood_ yet, like something about this entire thing is _fucking hilarious_.

It's grating.

It's obnoxious.

It's nearly _insulting_ since he can't seem to stop thinking about it; about what her inner monologue must be when they watch a street dancer perform, about the slants of her brows when she tries Taco Bells for the first time, about the pearlescent dazzle of her smile when she sprays canned Reddi Whip all over his face.

* * *

A few weeks after he's pronounced King of Asgard and finds his people a new land of residence, he's traveled across galaxies and through realms, and he's lost the eye to prove it, then battled a space dictator, Thor finds Valkyrie face deep in a bountiful meal of falafel, kabobs, and biriyani. She'd emptied out a vendor's cart. She nearly eats it all but they have to leave.

There's a few questioning stares, inquisitive implications about payment for the food. Thor's eye sweeps across the survivors and he doesn't have an answer. But she does tease him about missing out on the fascinating cuisine. She licks her fingers in his face, taunting. In private, he licks the favors off her fingers and residue of her drinks from her mouth.

* * *

Then it's six more months later, and he catches Valkyrie approaching the bottom of another large bottle, nursing it on a ledge on a lonely night. He catches the tail-ends of a one-sided conversation with herself, and when she sees him, for a quick beat of a second her face reflects the same peculiar expression he wears—of uncertainty and self exposure. In the next beat, her face wipes and she frowns, listens to him rush over an excuse for his entry, and she rolls her eyes.

Even with the eye patch and title to the throne, he still gives phrases of sheepishness. And it's when he's plopped himself at her side that it hits her—it hits her and it hits her _hard_ when he makes her eat her words under her dare for him to down a flask full of the most bitter, burning alcohol.

"I was hoping you would spit it out. I wanted to finish that..."

He smiles, cheekily. She'd seen him feast and inhale plates and platters of roasted boar or goat, but hard liquor had been _hers_ because she doesn't favor mead and he does.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Thor chugs a goblet of water due to queasiness and heartburn.

* * *

This was a mistake; an assumed _accident_.

He's tall, broad, and his spectacularly _irritating_ error in judgment and optimism that she doesn't see, doesn't _quite get_ , doesn't _understand_ at times because it isn't strategic, and it drives her _mad_ when she can't piece together the reasoning _why_ he, one day, proposes to visit Midgard "for the fun of it." And she can't wrap her mind around _how_ he's able to juggle, so effortlessly it seems, the weight and responsibility of king, and Avenger, and then _husband_ when he—

When he—

It's years after Ragnarok and the battle against Thanos. Valkyrie stands in front of a bathroom mirror somewhere on Midgard that she's already forgotten. "The building is nice, secure," he says, and he trusts those in charge. It looks like straight angles and rigor, she says.

Outside, it's daylight. There's the faint song of songbirds. There's an abundance of vehicles and honking. She's wearing an oversized t-shirt with the picture of some popular commercial consumer item—" _meme_ is what I was informed it's called. An obscure joke of some sort." She threads fingers through her loose hair, brings it up into a ponytail. Lets it fall back. Frowns. Scowls.

Already, their relations seem to be known—upon a walk exploring the area, she watched Thor feed breadcrumbs to ducks at a small pond, and who had shared the crumbs asked if he was her _husband_. It made Valkyrie's words still and fingers curl. _Husband_. Still, the title is one she's warming up to.

 _Husband_.

Could she be able to speak the title? Could she ever be warm enough so that the title lasts? What if their people want to throw her from the throne—because Valkyrie's a _warrior_ , a soldier, trained and practiced for _battle_ , not royalty.

 _Husband_. They don't wear the same marital bands as Midgard couples do, but still it's obvious. No matter how much she's blatant, gritty, and raw.

It's her own doubt more than anything, Valkyrie concludes.

But he makes her skin beneath his fingertips prickle and _tingle_. And it's the weight of everything, of the skepticism and reliability, of annoyance, and awareness. And it's like an _itch_ , a voltage current beneath her skin, a comforting vibrato just below the surface that makes her skin shiver and her form jump in response; and it's maddening, truly, and she can't quite stop herself when his fingers glide down her neck, across the expanse of her back, tickling the bare skin of her legs that peek out from beneath the long shirt. It's maddening. It's mesmerizing.

* * *

On their first day, he introduces a Midgard delicacy called _ice-cream_. This is Thor's second mistake. That night, she stays up late into the early hours and easily eats three cartoons empty, which was all they had. He had wanted to enjoy some for breakfast, he admits, dispirited. She just smiles, cheekily.

* * *

Thor introduces her to Pop Tarts one evening on their second week. He's carrying three boxes for himself and three boxes for her. It's an assorted collection, welcoming her to try them all to, hopefully, find her favorite...if she likes any of them.

"I ate three boxes once," he tells.

Valkyrie raises a brow.

* * *

He has to stop her at a bar once when she'd raised an empty cream soda bottle to the air in satisfaction.

"Also, it's frowned upon to break our glasses on the ground when we want more drinks."

Valkyrie's brow raise is higher.

* * *

Valkyrie has fought gods and giant wolves and aliens, but this warrior wasn't quite prepared for when she's sitting in the grass in the back of a Checkers drive-thru at two in the morning, balancing between a quarter-drunken bottle and homesickness and fireworks exploding in the distance, and this is simultaneously the most odd vacation she was dragged on, and—"exactly _how_ is Midgard great again?"

Her scowl of discomfort is directed towards Thor. The glowing blue, green, and red reflecting off his eye patch, his face a mixture of stone and something else she can't quite put a finger on.

He's quiet when they stand to return to their residence—some _fortress residence_ related to the Avengers that's serving as their first stop. Valkyrie is too uncomfortable to argue more against the matter—she had not warmed up to the idea to begin with.

* * *

The idea to stay on Midgard for an extensive period of time was to relax and grow familiar after all the craziness that has happened. It was to _force_ themselves to have a break, in a way. It was coaxed into them. Thor had sat with Korg and Heimdall on two separate occasions to mull over the proposal. And even after all the planning, he still hadn't been ready to step in dog waste, or for a seagull to attack Valkyrie's hair, or watching an outdoor concert they had been preparing to attend get rained out.

Midgardian's concept of time is speedy and rapid, always _go go go go_. The Midgardian's concept of valued honor is skewed, Valkyrie says. And she gets _annoyed_ when a bulky brute attempts to "flirt" with her in a manhandling manner, or the one time she's denied serve because of her difference in comparison to Thor.

"Midgard is a ruin land," she mutters to herself, squinting from sleep and squatting over a toilet at six in there morning.

The toilet clogs and floods when she flushes the cardboard roll down the pipe.

* * *

The intention, _the planned agenda_ was to showcase his so-called _extensive_ and _intricate_ understanding of Midgard's bizarre customs. Valkyrie finds that Thor particularly enjoys retelling accounts of his battles, about how many of the enemy he's slain, about the funny way Midgardians are into taking photographs with him (read: he likes the attention too), and about how many food-eating contests he's won. Valkyrie only nods in agreement with whatever or ignores the boasting to investigate something much more interesting.

So far, they've loitered and she's nearly gotten into a fight with a conceited patrol officer, has had to be explained her that she couldn't order for all of the food in a restaurant for herself, and showed what a radio is. His opinion is that the television is one of the most interesting Midgard inventions, being both convenientional and inconvenience. When introduced to Siri, neither Asgardian took a good liking to it.

Valkyrie stands on the busy American city sidewalk in a comfy pullover and low-resting boyfriend jeans, hip popped and large cellphone in her back pocket. A hand of her rests in the bend of her back so her other lazily draws the small cellular device in the open and fiddles with it. Her hair is up and recently washed. She's chewing on half the contents of a small Tic Tac container.

They're planned to watch an _old_ _Midgard classical event_ of monster trucks.

The air blows strong, sweeping her hair and causing Valkyrie to squint, spitting strands from her mouth. She raises a hand to block the wind and suddenly, Thor forgets all about their plans.

* * *

Also, the plan was to see Midgard, as much of this place as possible. And to cope with Midgardian travel, Valkyrie pops sleeping pills before each flight—because entering a country on his chariot drawn by his two flying goats is not the brightest or most discreet way of travel.

They each have passports, fake and approved with the help of Thor's "sketchy Midgardian connections," as she calls it, jokingly but not really.

* * *

Passing through a public park on the way to an Ecuadorian beach, Valkyrie stands beside Thor, a recently purchased cup of canelazo one hand. "And _these_ are... _hounds_ again, right?"

Thor grins as the Staffordshire terrier laps at his face. "Hounds. Dogs, yes. They were once wolves that humans domesticated, and—"

She plops in a squat beside him, suddenly. Squints. Tilts her head. Outstretches a hand to test the creature's temperament. She's seen similar creatures numerous times in passing but had steered clear and never asked about them; when she finally did, she couldn't remember what it is called, Thor throwing out dozens of names for _breeds_ that she never remembered. She gives a small jump when the short terrier jumps into her arms. With a straight face, "it's adorable!" The owner watches off with a small smile and couldn't hear when Valkyrie turns to Thor, asks, "so where are the big ones? You know, the ones we can ride? I wouldn't mind having one."

"They sadly don't have any like that."

Her eyes show her displeasure. "Disappointing." She opens her arms to release the small dog and it bounds back to its owner. "Next thing you're going to tell me is that there are no winged horses."

"Um..." He purses his lips.

"Why exactly is Midgard great again?"

* * *

On their twelfth week, they're witnesses to the burglary of a beauty store across the street as they are having four plates of fresh picada each and tall cups of avena. When realizing the situation, seeing one of the employees run after the robbers but a gun being drawn on him, Valkyrie stands abruptly, food and Thor forgotten, one hand fisted and the other reaching for the dagger masked as a large key hanging from her belt in preparation to charge..

Each carrying a book bag full of the stolen, the robbers run across a short crosswalk, and are clipped by a speeding convertible not reading the signs and lights. The breaks screech, there's yelling, arguing, insulting. The driver rolls down the window to throw curses and jibes. The robbers point fingers and crowd around the window. The driver exits the car, the robbers toss the backpacks on the sidewalk.

Thor blinks, squints in a little confusion. Valkyrie relaxes, slumps, drops back to the seat in from this anticlimax

They watch as police cruisers hurry to the scene.

* * *

Several days pass and they travel through two more cities. Valkyrie makes a drinking partner but accidentally poisons the goat so they're ran off. They make residence in an old, cheap-but-homey motel and learn how to make arepa de huevos, and dance in the streets during a celebration. A flower is placed in Valkyrie's hair and she's dressed in a loose red, blue, and white sundress that flows freely with her spins and swinging of her hips as the two are taught to dance together as a couple.

An old woman comments in Spanish about Thor being quite nimble on his feet for his size; she speaks with squinted, wrinkled eyes, through chapped lips and strong teeth that Thor has the physique of a god, and Valkyrie _chuckles_. But it's weak, not genuine, and only meant to be polite in the favor for conversation. The old woman calls to a friend of hers to ask for a second opinion. And both agree that the tall blonde gringo would be one her granddaughters would fawn all over, and he would have been the picturesque of a husband needed for heavy work back in the day—when looking to Valkyrie and getting confirmation on her relations with him, the older women remark about _how lucky_ Valkyrie is, plus, that Thor seems so respectful.

This time, Valkyrie doesn't chuckle, doesn't smile. She only stares quietly, a bottle touching her lips but not drinking.

Thor is helping a store employee left some heavy boxes. The employee makes a gesture toward Valkyrie and Thor turns back, bashful and blushing.

Valkyrie takes a swallow of her drink and leaves.

* * *

They find a rainforest and Valkyrie insists they follow the tour guide, opposite of Thor's _oh-so-very-confidence_ that he can find his way in and out of any Midgard landscape. He nearly runs into a poisonous plant, and then almost tramples over a python.

The tour guide watches with unease as Thor begs Valkyrie until she snaps pictures of him with the giant snake. When asked where they are from, Valkyrie answers, "Asgard," eyes still down at the phone as she posts the pictures to Instagram and Snapchat per request.

And too late, Thor interjects. He had been making kissing faces at the python like it was a puppy.

"Where's Asgard," they're asked.

Valkyrie's head snaps up.

"Norway," Thor answers, quickly. "It's in this little part. Far off. At the tippy top. Like—it's quite difficult to get there. Impossible, even. For you." He smiles.

The tour guide takes them to the exit through a short cut.

* * *

Thor experiences firsthand the experience of sunburns while on a beach in Brazil. Valkyrie spends a full ten minutes laughing and cracking jokes before helping to apply healing ointment on him.

* * *

"Midgard is—"

"No, go. What were you going to say?"

There are sitting across from each other on a trail up a small Lesotho mountain. Hours ago, Thor came across a small snake and scorpion, and she watched him bound after to catch it like a child. He now nurses his hand where the snake bit him.

In answer, Valkyrie groans a sigh. Slouches. Looks away; he calls her back.

"Midgard is...premature. _Annoying_ , the Midgardians are..." She shrugs.

Thor's face gradually falls.

Her hand points. "See; this is why I didn't want to tell you!"

He shakes his head, assures that it's fine. "I once held those same exact thoughts. But trust me, it grows on you. And there squabbling can be quite amusing, too."

That he may be right, she nods, considering. She still couldn't meet his eyes— _eye_. She hasn't really been able to, not normally, not like before—not without having an irritating churn or flitting feeling in her stomach, or the same _tingle_ as when they accidentally brush hands reaching for the last drumstick, or when she's under his watching gaze as she outdrinks a boastful Migardian at an alehouse, and she _chokes_.

Valkyrie sighs. "The people here aren't... But this," she looks out to the natural landscape surrounding them in their isolation, "this is..." She shakes her head, a smile—a genuine one she rarely gives—pulling her cheeks. "This is _beautiful_."

The bright twinkling in his eyes is so honest and dazzling that she looks away, feigning a coughing fit. It's a mirror of the same stare when he used to catch her on late nights on the ship after Ragnarok, and then for many days after. Continuously. She doesn't think he's looked at her any other way, and it—

"Be careful about yourself, Your Majesty," she teases.

"As you wish, Your Highness," he nods, just as teasing.

That night, they climbed a quarter further up the mountain and built a fire to eat over. The night sky is brilliant, and decorated with migrating mammals. Her fingers glide across his eye patch. Far from city lights, the darkness envelops them in soothing seclusion.

Lying on her back, Valkyrie's eyes are closed and she sighs in peace. Thor tells stories he's heard about a creature of grasslands with an impossibly long neck, of large apes that have their own communities, about bears that live both in the ice and in caves, and then that she reminds him of a koala—because she's vicious when she's not lazing around.

"What is a _koala_?"

Thor just smiles, offers to show her one day.

Valkyrie's nose wrinkles. "Hmmm... Nah. This is fine just right here."

The night sky is an unending blanket of twinkling jewels above. As she's drifting off to sleep, she feels him lean over her and the scratching of his mustache as his mouth brushes over hers ever so gently.

* * *

On the third month, they returned to North America, attending a mermaid show, rollercoasters, swimming naked in a spa, and driving go-carts are all checked off a list.

They get drunk one night and almost marry in a Denny's. There's a cemetery on a hill they decide to not enter, last minute. There's plans to visit the Northern Lights but they get sidetracked and spend three days at sea instead. Thor gets in a fight with an angered whale who remembers him. They drink coffee for dinner, have cookies with milk out of bowls for lunch, and fall asleep with each other's head on chests or shoulders, mouth wide and snoring.

Thor has an Instagram and Snapchat, and since finally having a cellphone, the posts he has are terribly shot videos and Snaps—most are of the sunrise and wide landscape shots of himself, a spect in the background; and there's before and after of his meals, and of Valkyrie sleeping, or practicing battle, or laying across him like her second pillow. Still, most are attempts of him and her communicating with each other like texts, not understanding that all of their twelve followers could see all of it.

* * *

Once, Thor walks on Valkyrie sitting at a window on a sunny afternoon. Feet dangling over the edge, there's a container of infused water in her hand instead of alcohol. She scratches her head, stretches, the golden sun coloring her brown skin.

He watches from afar with a tad more timidness than he's willing to admit.

When she finally turns, noticing him, he stammers and his face turns red.

She kisses his cheek, tells how dashing and adorable the look is on him.

He smiles bashfully, near reluctantly.

With a hand, she graces his cheek slowly and with a softness that would not have guessed she possessed when upon first meeting.

* * *

There was a celebration held among the people of Asgard to welcome their new king—it was arranged and put together to the best of their abilities due to the lack of resources and a their old land turned back into fire and mist, as stated it would in their religion. Valkyrie had not been dressed in elegant, fabulous garbs, Heimdall not in his armor, and Thor nothing but the clothes he had battled in, but still a ceremony was constructed with the same formations and words as it is held in customs. The Asgardian people clapped and chanted. Thor smiled out to them, nodding politely. Valkyrie's head remained leveled and her features stoned, strained, stressed.

* * *

It's nearly four Midgard months into their trip to Midgard, three travels to continents later, and there hasn't been a call to return from Heimdall or Loki or Korg or soldiers. The couple take advantage of this as much as they can.

One day, Valkyrie makes a comment about Midgard's appetites and how minuscule they are in comparison to the Asgardian fighters.

Thor responds: "So it turns out that the mortals like to drink just as much as we do, just not as well. Funny thing, I actually gave a couple old veterans some of the alcohol aged from the barrels built from one of your wrecked fleets."

"Veterans? They were of old age, then. You didn't kill them, did you? They're fragile."

He shakes his head, bottom lip pouting in doubt. "No, they were fine. Now that I'm thinking about it, one of them looked pretty familiar..."

"Familiar like _old Avenger partner_ familiar?"

"Not exactly... I can't put my finger on it..."

* * *

They make impromptu trips to popular tourist spots: The Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, the streets for The Great Bull Run, The Colosseum, The Eiffel, Tower, the London Eye.

* * *

There's a night spent rocking side to side one night in Ireland, his chest so close to hers and she wears such a look of uncertainty and flustering that Thor almost _laughs_. Like it's this is some kind of _joke_. Like this exposed side of hers is _fucking hilarious_ —there are the distant glimmer of street cars passing, reflecting off of store windows.

" _Relax_ " he purrs, because she's as tense as a wooden board. There's no battle here, no need to be cautious, he assures. One hand holds hers, the other on her lower back. He's in simple clothes purchased from a store, a guise to fit in—as is she.

Nearing one in the morning, minimal pedestrians stride down the stone cobble streets. The Asgardian couple sway to the melody of soft street music. Valkyrie's head rests on his chest. As she listens to the slowing rhythm of his heart, his cheek rests in her hair and he tries not to think about returning to Asgard.

He threads his fingers with hers—and this time, instead of hanging limp or forcing away, she tightens her grip. They don't have the wedding bands like Midgardians, but that wasn't necessary. They already know their relations with each other; it's unneeded because he's the King, she's his Queen, and Valkyrie is blissful about that.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've gotten this far, _wow_. This turned out to be a long fic so that's some dedication. I guess. Or maybe this was a good pastime. Either way please drop a comment about whatever this fic was good for you, or if it wasn't good. Feedback makes the world go 'round and encourages more work to be produced. Or if you don't like the work, let the creator know why and how they can change it


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